The Storm is a poem that I penned back in 2016, something that I’d long forgotten about until the end of 2020. I began sifting through my old writing and was surprised to find that after not picking up a pen for 4 years, I’d restarted and spoke of exactly the same themes.
The Storm touches on the beginning of a mental health lapse and how it begins to take hold along with the journey that ensues, littered with stormy weather analogies and metaphors.
Despite writing this well over 4 years ago, I found myself writing a poem almost identical, thinking that it was a new concept. I had, somehow, blocked out all the memories of the previous struggle and thought this was a completely new feeling to me. As soon as I reread The Storm, I remembered. I realised that I had been in this space before, I had survived it and last time I did it without asking for help. Probably the worst way of dealing with it. So, I’m glad to see some form of growth in myself here!
I continue to use the storm/weather analogies, because that is exactly how it feels for me. Sometimes the Storm can be predicted, sometimes it just floats in very slowly and takes hold. I often don’t remember the extent of the storm once I find my way out. I don’t remember every rain drop, just the bigger events, the clashes of lightning and the rumbles of thunder.
When looking back; the rain drops are the early warning signs, but once the thunder and lightning has taken hold, it’s hard to remember the sharp tongued comments, the snaps and the anger when I begin to spiral. They are the early warning signs that I know silently predict the Storm, but I hold onto the hope that it may pass me by, so I wouldn’t do anything about it.
It is the ending that finally broke my pattern, it ended my own stigma and made me stop feeling embarrassed. I have always been the first person to suggest to others to seek professional help, but I never heeded my own advice. Every time it gets to the point where I feel paralysed, I’m so far detached from anyone else, I’m fighting to survive every day and I forget that everything around me carries on. At the time, it feels as though we are all in the Storm together, but we’re not. And, rightly so, many people haven’t experienced the feeling of mounting pressure to be ‘okay’ whilst feeling like you’re spiralling. The importance of others believing you when you say you’re ‘fine’ becomes immense. Instead, we detach, because pretending to be okay is one less pressure we can run from.
Once each Storm is fought off I begin to rebuild, but I can never shake the feeling that there’s another Storm coming. I lived in constant fear that at any point I could and would crumble under the fear. Until, I eventually realised that I didn’t need to live my life this way. Whilst I could never really put my finger on what was different about me compared to others, I decided that this didn’t matter to me anymore, I just needed some help. And, whilst I wouldn’t say I’m out of the Woods yet, I now no longer fear the Storm.
The Storm
‘During the quietest of moments come the loudest of thoughts.
They latch on and suddenly the calm becomes the most unexpected storm.
Thoughts, feelings and memories come crashing to the forefront.
They have been blown in from years before and plan to stay for the months ahead.
Unrelenting and with the tightest of grips, it feels as though nothing will be as it was before.
The thunder rattles through my mind whilst the lightning shows me flashes of my life before.
I enter into the storm, waiting for it to settle and hoping to make it back to the other side.
The journey is treacherous, it takes every ounce from me and I can do nothing but falter.
Every step I take and every path I follow I find myself deeper into the storm.
It feels as though it is never ending, I can find no way out and no release.
When I am ready to give into my fate the heaviness finally breaks and I am able to stand.
The moment I have been waiting for has arrived and I suddenly feel a mix of fear and excitement.
I never want to be back here again, but the wind chases me everywhere.
Each time the storm descends I am paralysed with fear, never knowing if this is the last I will face.’
littlespeaks.com 